


Remember, Remember...

by Ketlingr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Short, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketlingr/pseuds/Ketlingr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is checking up on Bucky's recovery. Bucky is getting back in touch with the world and what it means to be a more or less ordinary human being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember, Remember...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoctorCrookshanksHolmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorCrookshanksHolmes/gifts).



“Natasha...” It was just a word, with no meaning, no expression attached to it. An empty shell, a vain attempt to offer both of them a way out that they had long since abandoned.

“You know this is strictly professional.” Her fingertips slowly trailed down along the metal plates that formed his upper arm. They mirrored the movement of his long, dark hair when he nodded, contorting the image to a blurred grimace of colours. “I'm here to examine you, see how you're adjusting.” Her voice was a matter-of-factly rasp. Her eyes followed her fingers, because it was easier than looking at him. There was too much missing in his eyes.

“You could leave. Tell them I'm doing just fine.” His voice was like a curse, drawing her gaze up to his face. There was this wary smirk playing his features, and something else lurking in the dark shadows under his eyes, the tension of his jaw, like any moment he would bare his teeth and hiss at her like an angry lynx.

His touch surprised her, the firm hand on her waist. She flinched, held on to his arm. It felt surprisingly... ordinary. She had expected it to be colder, harder, more foreign. But it was just metal. Just an object that happened to be part of a person. She held on to it, consciously now, relaxing into the palm of his hand.

“This,” he mumbled, his thumb stroking over the scar at her side. He could feel it through her top and it made her uncomfortable. Her hand left his arm and slid beneath his, pushing it away. The hurt, guilty look in his eyes was like a blow to the face for her. He was slipping from her, not physically, but in his mind.

“James...,” her stern tone caused him to look up, just in time to see her hook two fingers into the fabric of her top and pull it over her head. She took his hand, his real one, not the metal one, and put it back where it had been, his thumb lingering on the edge of that scar.

“It is beautiful,” he said. The slightest frown creased her brow. Natasha was not a vain woman, but she did look at herself occasionally, wondering whether she was what someone might call attractive. However, she was aware that having had a hole shot through her abdomen would not make her very desirable for most people. And yet here he was, this man with his metal arm making her the clumsiest and most inappropriate compliment he of all people could possibly make. It only served to confuse her and Natasha was not a person who enjoyed being confused.

Instead of letting the feeling overpower her, she pressed her palms against his bare chest and out of the same, fluid motion, straddled him, and leaned forward just enough to kiss his lips. They were chapped, the stubble on his chin was rough, but just as sweet as he had when she had last visited him. One-handed, he held on to her as though he was trying not to fall. His kiss was reluctant, like he feared he might have forgotten how to kiss, but he remembered quickly and picked up pace until he pulled even with her lead.

Unlike his, her hands did not keep still – while one had wrapped and entangled itself in his long hair, the other was tracing lines down his chest, her trimmed nails brushing over his skin. Her movements were slow and deliberate, while his body had trouble remembering how to move, how to touch, how to be gentle and most of all how to enjoy.

When Natasha pushed James to lie back on his back, he was stunned at the tingle in his fingertips as he dragged them up her side to her shoulder. When he put his flat hand over her collar bone, his fingers curling to cup her shoulder and slide down her arm, he felt her warm skin and her muscles flexing while she ran her own hands over his body, drowning him in soft caresses until his fingers reached hers. She paused, allowing him to explore until he moved back up along the inside of her arm. He felt her heart beat, fast and strong.

Before his mind could move away again, she leaned down and planted another kiss on his lips. It was almost a question and he replied by letting his hand settle in the nape of her neck and pulling her in for another kiss. Again she took the lead, supporting herself on her elbows either side of his head, rolling her hips against his.

“Natasha,” he mumbled so close to her lips that they were almost still kissing. She looked down at him, waiting. “I'm not... ready for that,” he admitted, his eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown.

“I didn't expect you to be,” she replied and kissed the tip of his nose briefly. Her smile was honest, but so were all of her smiles. However, James still felt her heart flutter under his fingers and he knew it was a genuine promise. “Take your time,” she added and he nodded shyly.

“Can you stay here?” he asked and she knew what he meant.

“Take your time,” she repeated and watched him raise his hand to her collar bone once more, his fingertips following the lines of her body. He remembered being a child, a long time ago in a different world. This time, she did not keep his mind from moving away. Maybe she was moving away in her own thoughts. He saw darkness all around him and a long hallway. He lived in this house, he knew he should know the way around it, but his mind was afraid and so it had forgotten. Even the long, straight hallway seemed like an endless labyrinth to him. It was so dark and he knew it was late, he had better be quiet. And then, in the distance, he saw the kitchen light that his mother had left burning and he began remembering, slowly at first than he almost ran down the hallway, flying into his mothers arms. What was the matter, she asked, and he could not even say, because all his fear was gone, because he had remembered the way and all was well.

“James?” Natasha slid off his waist and lay down next to him on the bed. He smiled at her concerned frown, her confused pout when he rested his forefinger on the tip of her nose. “Are you alright?” she asked, still confused, but with a chuckle in her raspy voice.

“I'm well.” All was well, he thought. Because he remembered. Slowly for now, but soon, he thought, soon he would remember everything. And maybe he could make amends, and maybe, he thought, naively, maybe he could really make everything well again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and thanks for reading :) I hope you enjoyed the story, even though it was only short. I'm (hopefully) back on track and (also hopefully) finally conquering my almost year-long writer's block. 
> 
> This story was requested / suggested by a nice person who is admin of a group that continues to brighten my day. It also makes me procrastinate horribly. I like that group very much.
> 
> Unfortunately, this story has not been beta'd yet (because I'm actually supposed to be sleeping, not posting stories), so if you find any mistakes, please let me know. Also, if you'd like to suggest tags, feel free to do so :)


End file.
